


I'm someone you maybe might love

by alterocentrist



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Romantic Comedy, F/F, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-15 15:26:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12323751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alterocentrist/pseuds/alterocentrist
Summary: Before boarding an early morning flight to Los Angeles, Laura picks up a stranger's backpack by accident.





	1. Chapter 1

At that moment, Laura wanted to express her hatred for several things: airports, timezones, and the fact that the best way to minimise on her already ballooning travel expenses was to spend the night at the airport before her 5AM flight. She didn’t want to pay another night for her AirBnB because first of all, Toronto was expensive, and second of all, being too comfortable meant she probably would have missed her flight.

It was 4:15AM and she had been at Toronto Pearson for seven hours. For the hell of it, she had stopped at every Tim Hortons between the airport’s entrance and the boarding gate, and now she was adamant that she was never going to eat a Timbit again. She was exhausted. It must be a combination of the donuts and being under the airport’s harsh lighting for too long. But she didn’t need to worry about much anymore. She was already where she needed to be, slouched in a seat, waiting for the announcement to board her flight.

* * *

Early mornings weren’t Carmilla’s thing, but it was the last day of her holiday and she wanted to have the whole day to herself before she had to go back to work tomorrow. She was grinning and bearing it, as best as she could.

The PA rang clear throughout the departure hall: “We are now inviting the economy class passengers of the Air Canada flight to Los Angeles to board.”

Carmilla glanced up from her book to watch a line of travellers form a sluggish line to the boarding gate adjacent to hers. She couldn’t help but wonder why these people needed to leave for  _ Los Angeles  _ so early in the morning. As far as she knew, not much was interesting there. Then again, she was never the city’s biggest fan. She turned her attention back to her book.

Moments later, the PA sounded off once more: “This is the final boarding call for passengers on the Air Canada flight to Los Angeles. If you are on this flight, please come to the gate immediately. If you need assistance, please approach one of the airport staff to direct you to the gate. I repeat: this is the  _ final boarding call  _ for passengers on the Air Canada flight to Los Ang-”

A woman seated two places away from Carmilla jolted awake, causing Carmilla to look back up from her reading. “Final call?” she asked no one in particular. She looked up at the digital screen by the gate marker, and her eyes widened when the words on the screen confirmed her fears. “Crap!” She scrambled to her feet, digging in her jacket for her boarding pass and bending down to pick her backpack up at the same time.

Carmilla watched as the woman practically sprinted to the boarding gate, and then she went back and reread the sentence she had been reading.

Moments later, the PA announced that her flight to Vancouver was boarding. Carmilla reached for her backpack to put her book away. She reached for a zipper to open a compartment, and instead of the nylon zipper pull, her fingers closed around a foreign material. “What the hell?” she muttered, as she hoisted the bag on her lap. The metal chain where she expected her keychain to be was, instead, attached to a rubber Hufflepuff crest. “What the hell?” she said again, as she looked around the floor and the seats next to her.

“Shit,” she finally said.

This was the only black backpack around, and it wasn’t hers.

* * *

Laura would be the first to admit that she was not the greatest at making sensible decisions. But a couple of years ago, when she had a decent amount of money to spend on a backpack, she thought that purchasing a discreet black one was the sensible thing to do. It was going to be her everyday bag after all, to use for travelling and meetings and weekend trips. It was meant to go with her everywhere to everything.

But now she was on a plane to Los Angeles without it. She had meetings scheduled on that same day, all of which would require the hard drives, the laptop, and the other gear she had in the backpack. Ultimately, that wasn’t even the worst part. The worst part was that she had picked up someone else’s bag, which was exactly identical to hers, and because this mess happened in an airport, its rightful owner could be on their way to Kyrgyzstan for all Laura knew.

There was nothing on the outside of the backpack that provided identification, except for a metal keychain of an 8-bit Game Boy, fastened to the same zipper where Laura herself had opted for a  _ Harry Potter- _ themed one. And like her keychain, this small metal Game Boy didn’t say much about the owner of the bag, except that they were probably a nerd of some kind.

So, not much different to Laura, then.

Laura systematically opened each of the bag’s compartments to see if she could find anything helpful. She tried not to feel too guilty about it; she knew whoever had picked up her bag was probably doing the same thing. There was no passport, phone, or wallet inside, so the bag’s owner also had the good sense to keep those items on themselves.

Laura opened the main compartment, which contained a rolled-up black hoodie, an Android tablet in a case, and a hardbound notebook. She pulled the notebook out. It was a day planner—perfect. She opened to the first page where the contact information was usually kept. It was filled in with meticulous handwriting in jet black ink. A breakthrough. Small bursts of relief began to settle her stomach. 

The planner—and the backpack—belonged to one Carmilla Karnstein, who also wrote down her mobile phone number, email address, and an address someplace in Vancouver. It must be an office address, if Laura was thinking of the correct downtown street. But that was irrelevant. What mattered was the backpack’s owner lived in the same city that Laura did, which would make returning it easy.

The next challenge was figuring out where her backpack had ended up.

* * *

Upon being saddled with a stranger’s bag, Carmilla decided she would wait for the boarding queue to pass by examining its contents. There was no money, phone, or passport, so Carmilla assumed it belonged to the harried woman who almost slept through final call. She remembered that the woman had at least her travel documents with her.

Carmilla was looking at the woman’s rather impressive collection of hotel ballpoint pens when her knuckles knocked against a small tin case. Mints? She took it out of the bag. It was a plain matte black rectangle with hinges on the short side. She opened it to find a stack of glossy business cards.

_ Laura Hollis _ __   
_ Film Editor and Videographer _ _   
_ __ Vancouver, BC

Carmilla nearly sighed in relief. That was good news. At least she lived in the same city as the bag’s owner, who also happened to be the person who accidentally picked up  _ her _ bag. She flipped the card over to find Laura Hollis’s contact details. There was no use contacting her at that moment, since she was on a plane to Los Angeles.

And so Carmilla replaced the tin of business cards back in its pocket and zipped the bag close. She stood up, slung it over her shoulder, and joined the queue to board her flight.

Later that day—but really,  _ earlier  _ again, because of time zones—Carmilla placed the stranger’s backpack on her couch. She kicked off her sneakers, collapsed into an armchair, and dug her phone out of the pocket of her jacket, which she had unceremoniously discarded on her coffee table.

As soon as she turned the phone screen on, the device connected to her apartment’s WiFi. The notifications came in, mostly emails and messages on Slack. She opened her email app and was surprised to find an email from  _ Laura Hollis _ .

The subject line:  _ I believe I have your backpack??? _

The email was rambling, with profuse, repeated apologies for picking up the wrong backpack. Thankfully, it also contained what Carmilla  _ actually  _ wanted to know. Laura Hollis was only in Los Angeles for the night, and would be returning to Vancouver the following afternoon. That meant it wasn’t long until the bags were going to be with their respective owners. There was also an accompanying photo of Carmilla’s backpack, with her 8BitBoy keychain prominently displayed. The email finished with another apology, and a plea:  _ I’m so so so sorry that I took your backpack, and I’m just hoping that you also took mine… _

Carmilla rested her phone on the armrest. She leaned forward and grabbed Laura Hollis’s backpack from the couch. She snapped a photo of the Hufflepuff keychain. And then she opened the side pocket where the business card tin was located. She popped the tin open and took a photo of the inside. She attached the two photos to a response email, and, with a smirk on her face, began to type:

_ I believe these are yours? Sweet business cards, by the way _ .

* * *

“Oh, this must be her!” Laura exclaimed as her phone lit up and buzzed against Betty’s dining table.

Betty, who was busy doing dishes, barely looked up from the sink. “Great,” she intoned, with the barest hint of interest. She was always the coolest head in a crisis, even back at university. Back then, she was the best person to have around when Laura was freaking out about leaving an essential piece of gear on the way to a shoot. Some things never changed.

Sure enough, the email was from Carmilla Karnstein. The first thing Laura did was to open the attachments. Yup, her and Carmilla definitely swapped bags. She closed the photos and proceeded to read the email. There was a conspicuous absence of a greeting. A sign of bad manners, Laura remembered her dad saying.

_ I believe these are yours? Sweet business cards, by the way. _

_ First of all, it’s not really a big deal that you picked up the wrong bag. It just so happened the two of us sat next to each other and didn’t realise that we had the same backpack, and we both didn’t secure our stuff properly. Not anyone’s fault. It was the crack of dawn after all. _

_ Secondly, I’m happy that you will be back in Vancouver tomorrow. When will be a good time for us to be reunited with our bags? The sooner the better, right? I noticed that you have a laptop and several hard drives in here. I’m assuming that they’re essential equipment for the work that you’re doing. _

_ Thirdly, please take extra caution with the tablet in my bag. There is  _ a lot  _ of sensitive information on there that can’t be released to the public just yet. The last thing I want is a careless mistake leading to a leak. It’ll be way more trouble than just a case of swapped backpacks. _

_ Thank you very much and I hope to see you soon. _

_ Carmilla _

“I don’t know what to make of this person,” Laura said.

“What do you mean?” Betty asked.

“She’s like, nice and polite, but there’s like, a layer of passive-aggressiveness there.”

Betty snorted. “Oh, you would know that, wouldn’t you, Hollis?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Laura asked. When Betty simply stared at her, she waved the comment off. “Anyway, this is confusing. I can’t tell if she’s pissed off at me or what.”

“People come off weird on email sometimes,” Betty said. “I’m sure she’s perfectly fine.”

“And, listen to this!” Laura read out Carmilla’s final paragraph, the one about the tablet and the “sensitive information”. When she finished, she laughed. “I mean, doesn’t that sound passive-aggressive? Aren’t we all working with sensitive information?” She huffed. “ _ Careless mistake _ .”

“Laura, people are always rubbing you the wrong way online,” Betty said, rolling her eyes. “Besides, that was actually a smart thing for her to say. Now you know that you’re carrying precious cargo and she’ll feel reassured that you’re going to take proper care of her things. Why don’t you tell her about all the work you have stashed on those hard drives of yours?”

“Oh, yeah!” Laura had more than a handful of already-released web series episodes on those hard drives, but getting those leaked would not be good for her reputation as a trustworthy freelance editor. “Should I try to be equally passive-aggressive?”

“I doubt you have to  _ try _ .”

Laura chuckled, shrugging off Betty’s snarky comments. “Thank you for always believing in my abilities, Bets,” she said, before flexing her fingers to compose a reply.

* * *

The plus side of Carmilla’s job was that she didn’t actually have to turn up to work if she didn’t want to. And because she was backpack-less, and frankly, still exhausted from the stupid business meetings in Montreal and Toronto, she decided to call her secretary.

“Hi, Perry, it’s Carmilla,” she said.

“Carmilla!” Perry’s voice was high-pitched and cloying, and though she had been Carmilla’s secretary for two years, even a week without hearing it meant that Carmilla had to get used to it again. “How was your flight?”

“Stressful and boring, as flying always manages to be,” Carmilla said.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll be happy to be back in the office tomorrow,” Perry said.

Carmilla exhaled loudly. “Uhm, about that,” she said. “I had a bit of luggage trouble at the airport, and I have to be home to sort it out… So I’m going to have work from home for at least the next couple of days.”

“You’re supposed to be meeting with Lilita tomorrow. Debriefing, remember?”

“Tell her I’m not feeling well,” Carmilla said, pinching the bridge of her nose. She knew that there was no reason for her not to turn up to the office tomorrow, since she had everything she needed there, but she simply couldn’t be  _ bothered _ . And when Carmilla wasn’t bothered, she would use any excuse. “Just send her inevitable list of things for me to do my way, I’ll work on them from here.”

Perry’s tone was clipped: “Fine,” she said. “I hope you feel better soon!”

“Thanks, Perry,” Carmilla said. “I owe you one.”

“Sure you do,” Perry said. “Bye.” She ended the call.

Carmilla was about to toss her phone to the other end of her couch when it alerted her to an email. It was from Laura Hollis. She must have been on the edge of her seat, waiting for updates on her backpack—and judging by the amount of hard drives that she had, Carmilla understood why.

_ Hi Carmilla _ , the email began,  _ Thank you so much for deciding to bring my backpack with you! I’m so happy it’s somewhere safe. _

Laura, Carmilla learned, liked to be long-winded. After the incessant thanks, she then proceeded to give Carmilla a very wordy message that basically boiled down to:  _ Lose the hard drives and my job is screwed and your life is screwed _ . The whole email was then concluded with more thanks—it was people like Laura that gave Canadians the reputation they had—and then, to Carmilla’s disgust, a series of emojis that just made everything too cheerful and excitable.

Carmilla raked a hand through her hair. “Jesus Christ.”

* * *

They arranged to meet at a Starbucks. It was Laura who came up with the idea. She thought it would be the most convenient place, since it was the closest to Carmilla’s office. She got there twenty minutes early, in case Carmilla was the kind of person who was ridiculously punctual, ordered a drink and took a seat.

It was 3PM. Laura watched the door, wondering if the next person who walked in was Carmilla. Carmilla Karnstein. What an unusual name. Laura couldn’t form a mental image of her that made sense. Judging by the items in her backpack—and the fact that she carried one—Carmilla seemed to like nerdy things. Judging by the tone of her emails and her small, orderly penmanship, Carmilla seemed well-off and well-educated. And judging by the location of her office, Carmilla seemed to have a fancy job. Fancier than Laura’s, anyhow. 

She understood that people were complex, but she couldn’t imagine what a person like that would look like.

Laura sat there for another fifteen minutes before deciding that she should probably check up on Carmilla. She took her phone out and was prepared to send an email when a woman her age walked through the Starbucks doors, wearing a black backpack with a Hufflepuff keychain.

The woman was wearing sunglasses, which she took off as soon as her gaze found Laura. Specifically, the backpack by Laura’s feet. She approached the table. “Hey there. Sorry I’m late,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. “You must be Laura.”

“Hi!” Laura got to her feet. “And you must be Carmilla.” She held her hand out for Carmilla to shake, and Carmilla did so. Firm handshake, she noticed. Well-practised, but lacking in enthusiasm. The handshake of a corporate drone.

Except Carmilla didn’t look like a corporate drone. She wore skinny fit, army green cargo pants, faded black Converse high tops, and a rumpled grey v-neck under a slightly oversized denim jacket, with its cuffs folded. And she was  _ attractive _ . Laura was almost embarrassed to have noticed it immediately. But really, how could she not? It was a once in a lifetime experience, having a luggage mishap involving someone who looked like a Greek goddess. Or, at least, like someone on those Vancouver street style Instagrams that Laura occasionally browsed but never had the inclination to follow.

“Uh, do you wanna get a drink or something?” Laura managed a nervous laugh. “Three o’clock slump, and all.”

For the first time, Carmilla smiled, albeit a small one. “Sure, why not? It’s not like I want to go back to work anyway.” There was a passing flash of mischief in her eyes. She took her—no,  _ Laura’s _ —backpack off and put it on the chair across from Laura. “Excuse me, I’ll be back.”

* * *

Carmilla  _ hated  _ Starbucks. Granted, this was only the second or third time in her life that she had been in one, but there was nothing going on in that place that could potentially change her mind about it. She had no idea why she agreed to meet Laura here. Well, it was easy to find and it was only around the corner from her office, so maybe that was why.

She ordered a tall—it was what they called their  _ second smallest  _ size, ridiculous!—soy latte. Soon enough, the tacky styro cup was in her hand, with  _ Camilla  _ Sharpied on it by the university student behind the counter. She made her way back to where Laura was seated.

Laura had her own backpack on her lap, while Carmilla’s backpack was on the empty chair. The first impression that Carmilla had of Laura was that she looked way too young. Way too young to be catching a flight to Los Angeles at the crack of dawn. Maybe that was why she picked up the wrong backpack in the first place. She looked about the same age as the teenagers who have flooded into the Starbucks for the after-school rush, their bulky schoolbags ensuring that they took up twice as much space as they should. The fact that Laura was happily sipping on one of Starbucks’s over-sugared concoctions only contributed to this impression.

Carmilla placed her drink on the table, then lifted her backpack so she could sit down. She watched as Laura opened the padded case containing her hard drives. “Taking inventory, are we?” she asked.

“I’m just happy that they’re back with me,” Laura said. She zipped the case shut and placed it back in the backpack, which she put on the floor by her feet. 

Carmilla didn’t miss how she placed her foot through one of the shoulder straps. It was a precautionary method neither of them remembered to do at Toronto Pearson a few days ago. She took a sip of her latte and winced at the nearly-soapy consistency of the steamed milk.

“You don’t seem like the biggest Starbucks person,” Laura said.

“You’re astute,” Carmilla said, only with the  _ slightest _ inflection of sarcasm. She nodded at Laura’s half-finished drink. “Is that one of those,” she cleared her throat, “frappes?”

“Frappuccino, yes,” Laura corrected. “I’m regretting having some. I didn’t have work today so I didn’t really need the energy boost. If I have any more, my hands are going to start shaking.” But, perhaps out of habit, she reached for the drink and took another sip anyway. 

“How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?” Carmilla asked.

Laura’s eyebrows knitted together, as if she didn’t understand why Carmilla would be asking that question. “I’m twenty-five,” she said. “I know I look about ten years younger, so…”

“That’s exactly why I was asking.”

“How about you?” Laura asked.

“Twenty-seven,” Carmilla said.

“You look like you should still be at university,” Laura said.

Carmilla chuckled. “I get that a lot.”

“So,”Laura said, “you don’t think they’re going to miss you at work?”

Carmilla raised an eyebrow. “Are you trying to kick me out or something?”

“Oh, no!” Laura shook her head vehemently. “It’s just, it’s very obvious that Starbucks really isn’t your thing, but you must, you know, not like your job that much that you’d rather buy a coffee and waste your time here.”

“I like my job,” Carmilla said. “I just don’t like my workplace very much.”

“I’m confused,” Laura said. “What’s the difference?”

“It’s hard to explain,” Carmilla said. To be honest, she knew exactly what she meant, but she didn’t feel like going over it with a stranger. Instead, she changed the subject. “So, Hufflepuff, huh? That’s a weird choice.”

Laura looked down at the keychain on her backpack, as if she had forgotten that it existed. She looked back up at Carmilla. “What about it is weird?” she asked.

“Isn’t there, like some sort of a Gryffindor-Slytherin dichotomy?” Carmilla’s tone was challenging, but she saw that this only made Laura more engaged in the conversation. “And then, if I remember correctly, the real hardcore fans are like, ‘Oh, I’m in Ravenclaw!’ Then nobody wants to really be in Hufflepuff.”

“Hey, I’m Hufflepuff and proud,” Laura said seriously. And then, “You like  _ Harry Potter _ ?”

“Yeah, I grew up with it,” Carmilla said vaguely. Liked  _ Harry Potter _ ? She  _ loved  _ it. “Guess which house I’m in?”

Laura examined her carefully. “Hmm,” she eventually said. “I think you’d be a Slytherin.”

“Sure, yeah, that’s what Pottermore and a few dozen Buzzfeed quizzes told me. But to be honest, I’m still on the fence about that,” Carmilla said. “I feel like I’d be better suited in Ravenclaw based on my interests, but I have a Slytherin approach to most things in life. But the sorting logic has never made sense in  _ Harry Potter _ .”

“What do you mean?” Laura asked, genuinely interested.

“Like, there are characters who seem to be sorted in their houses because of what they like, and there are some characters who were sorted in their houses because of their personalities,” Carmilla said. “So what really determines your house?”

Laura rubbed her chin. “That’s a good point,” she said.

Their discussion continued on for another fifteen minutes. Carmilla was a nerd; that was something she could admit to herself. But she wasn’t the type to spend her time in deep conversation about Hogwarts house sorting practices with someone who was virtually a stranger. Furthermore, she was sure that Perry was already freaking out about her disappearance from the office—and she didn’t care. It was surprising, but she was enjoying herself. Even the coffee was starting to taste passable.

Whoa. Okay. With that thought, she knew she needed to check herself. “Hey, shit, I gotta go,” she told Laura. “People at the office might start to notice that I’m missing.” She downed the rest of her coffee—okay, it was still crap—and then made sure that she had the rest of her possessions. She slung the backpack over her shoulder, suppressing a smile at its familiar weight against her back. “Thanks for keeping my stuff safe, by the way,” she said.

“It’s no problem,” Laura said. “And thanks for taking care of my things.”

“Not a big deal at all,” Carmilla said. “It was nice meeting you.” With a final, awkward wave, she walked out of the Starbucks, and back down the block to her office building. 

When Carmilla entered the lobby, she shoved her hand in her pocket for her entry card. There it was, along with a glossy card. She pulled both items out. As she tapped her way through the security gates, she stared at the glossy card in her hand. It was one of Laura’s business cards. She couldn’t resist smiling. She almost forgot that she took one out before she left the office to meet her. Just for the heck of it.

That was what she was telling herself anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

The skies were ever-so-slightly overcast, as they tended to be in Vancouver on the cusp of spring, but for Laura, it might as well have been a clear summer’s day. That was what a day in an editing suite did to a person. Besides, she had to be thankful. This was the first day all week that she was able to wrap her work up before sundown.

As a little treat, she bought a bottle of iced tea at a convenience store on her way to the SkyTrain station. She was going to head home, have dinner with her dad, and tell him about the wild hitches and glitches of her day, and then suggest that they watch Netflix together. Unless it was a Friday or a Saturday, he would almost always opt to go to bed early, but he would appreciate the offer.

The SkyTrain was filled with the usual early weekday afternoon crowd: students, a few office workers, and a whole bunch of senior citizens trying to make it back before rush hour truly hit. Laura weaved her way through a pack of uniformed Catholic schoolboys who seemed to be in each other’s company, except every one of them was staring at their phones. She took a few more steps, intending to get further down the car, when she tripped over an old lady’s roller bag. Gasping, she held onto the seat in front of her to keep her balance. Her hand brushed its occupant’s shoulder in the process.

“I’m so so–” Laura began, before noticing that this particular passenger had a familiar head of wavy black hair. A head that was accessorised by a pair of noise-cancelling headphones. She tapped the person’s shoulder. “Carmilla? Hi!” She took another step and turned around so that they were facing each other.

Carmilla’s eyes went wide at the sight of Laura. She pushed the headphones off her head, letting them rest around her neck. “Laura,” she said. “Long time no see.”

Well, Laura was sure that neither of them had any intention of actually seeing each other again, because that was just how life was like, but she just kept grinning at Carmilla. “I know right? How have you been?”

“Oh yeah, I’ve been great, actually,” Carmilla said, though her furrowed brow said otherwise.

“Really?” Laura said. “Because I’ve had a crap week.”

Carmilla’s shoulders sagged. She laughed weakly. “Yeah, you’re right,” she said. “My week has been shit, too. This day in particular.”

Laura knew that she didn’t know Carmilla that well. In fact, she didn’t know her at all. But there was something about the resignation in Carmilla’s body language, and the exhaustion evident in her deep brown eyes, that twinged a little bit at her heart. “You wanna talk about it?” she asked.

“Honestly? Not really.” Carmilla sighed. She ran a hand through her hair, which Laura noticed had been cut shorter, barely brushing her shoulders. “Do you always catch the SkyTrain? This is the first time I’ve seen you here, and I can recognise a lot of the regulars.”

“No, I managed to leave work early today,” Laura said. “I didn’t think you were a SkyTrain person.”

Carmilla smiled. “That seems awfully presumptuous of you,” she said. “The first time we met, you said that I wasn’t a Starbucks person -”

“And you weren’t,” Laura interjected.

“And now you’re saying that I’m not a SkyTrain person. So, Laura, tell me, what kind of person do you think I look like?” Carmilla was sitting up a bit straighter now, and the weariness in her face had been mostly replaced with a brash energy. It seemed that she enjoyed this kind of conversation.

“You look like a city-dwelling UBC hipster,” Laura said.

Carmilla clutched at her heart in mock indignation. “If you must really know,” she said, “I went to McGill.”

Laura laughed. “Well, that explains  _ everything _ ,” she said.

“And what does  _ that  _ mean?”

The SkyTrain stopped and the teenage girl beside Carmilla gathered her things and headed towards the door. Laura took her vacated seat. “You know how it goes. The only thing worse than a hipster from UBC is a hipster from McGill,” she said.

Carmilla laughed. “Here you are again with those judgements!” she said. “You seem to have a wealth of Canadian urban millennial stereotypes in that brain of yours. Where did  _ you _ go to university?”

“SFU,” Laura said.

“Ah, so you’re bitter because you didn’t get into UBC,” Carmilla said.

Laura gasped. “Now,  _ who’s _ being  _ presumptuous _ ?”

They continued like that for a while, until Carmilla reached her stop. Laura noted that it was two stops before hers. She watched as Carmilla made a big show of checking their backpacks, before putting hers on.

“Just didn’t want a repeat of that time at the airport,” she joked.

“Would that be so bad?” Laura asked.

Carmilla looked as if she was considering it. “It was nice seeing you, Laura,” she finally said. “Thanks for the chat.” And with that, she walked to the doors just as they were sliding open, and she stepped out onto the platform, but not before giving Laura one last smile.

* * *

JP, one of Silas Entertainment’s best, albeit overeager, engineers, poked his head into Carmilla’s office. “Uh, Carmilla,” he began nervously, “we’re getting reports of a bug on  _ Mushroomocalypse _ .”

Carmilla tore her attention away from what had to be the thousandth email she was typing that day. She regarded JP’s harried face with impatience. “And you’re telling me this why?” she asked. Problems like bugs? Not her department. Well, technically it was  _ her  _ department, but she was not in the mood.

“Uhm, well, this morning you sent an email saying you wanted updates on our mobile games,” JP said.

It astounded Carmilla just how obtuse some game developers were when it came to everyday tasks, like, for example, reading a  _ very  _ short email. “Not  _ those  _ kinds of updates! I meant the games we had in development!” Carmilla watched as JP winced. She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Look, I’m sorry,” she said. “Why don’t you go tell LaF? I’m sure their team will get on it right away.”

“Right. Yes, I’ll do that,” JP said, sounding as if he should’ve come up with the solution himself. “Do you need anything?”

“Can you go find Theo for me? I need to talk to him about the storyboards he’s going to present next week,” Carmilla said. 

JP responded with rapid nodding, his head still bobbing as he walked away.

“Perry!” Carmilla called out for the attention of her redheaded secretary. “Can you send an intern to get me some coffee?”

Instead of answering, Perry already had her phone to her ear, no doubt trying to reach the first intern who would pick up.

Carmilla turned back to the email that she was writing, before JP had interrupted her. She knew that she should feel even a little bit of gratitude. There were thousands of people her age who would kill to have the job that she had, the benefits and the salary that she had… But most days she felt like ripping her hair out.

And she had pretty nice hair.

She wrote the rest of the email, trying to sound like her non-bitchy best, and then sent it off. Just when she did, a popup on her computer alerted her to a new one. “Fucking hell,” she muttered, but her mood changed when she read the alert properly. It was from, of all people, Laura Hollis.

Carmilla surprised herself with how glad she felt upon seeing Laura’s name. They hadn’t seen each other in months, but if Carmilla was being honest, she had thought about Laura occasionally. Well, maybe a little more than occasionally. It was kind of silly. Just seeing her own backpack reminded her of the woman. And Carmilla didn’t know why her thoughts kept going back there.

There were moments when she’d have lengthy internal debates with herself on whether or not she should get in touch with Laura. After all, she did keep her business card, for no particular reason other than because she wanted to. Why did she want to? That was another question she couldn’t answer.

And then Laura showed up on the SkyTrain, and a more romantic person would take that as a sign, but Carmilla was the furthest thing from romantic. And so, it seemed that fate had taken the initiative. Or rather,  _ Laura _ , because fate wasn’t a thing that existed.

Laura’s subject line:  _ Lunch today? _

The email itself was, oddly, succinct, by Laura’s standards. Carmilla figured that it had been composed and sent in a short amount of time. It read: 

_ Hi Carmilla  _

_ It was nice running into you yesterday. I’m in the city again today and this project is kicking my ass. I was wondering if you want to join me for lunch? I’m good with anything if you have suggestions. If you’re too busy, that’s fine too. No pressure! _

_ Laura (Hollis) _

* * *

“You are an idiot of the highest order, did you know that?”

Laura lifted her face from where it was buried in her hands to glare at Betty through her laptop screen. “Shut up, Betty,” she said. “You’re here to be supportive.”

“No, I’m here because you said you wanted some company while you worked on the project from hell,” Betty retorted. “I didn’t know that I had to coach you through asking a girl out.”

“I was  _ not  _ asking her out!” Laura insisted. “It’s just lunch.”

“Admit it, you’ve got a crush on Carmilla. You’ve been working on this project all week, and I have no doubt that it’s crappy, backbreaking work, but you didn’t call me before today, and it’s already  _ Friday _ ,” Betty said. “Your little crisis has got nothing to do with this job, that by the way, you’re getting  _ paid  _ to do.”

“Shut up. I’m ahead of schedule, I deserve a break,” Laura said. “And besides, weren’t you on set the whole week? I’m only calling you now because I know you’ve got the day off.”

“Always the considerate one, huh?” Betty’s smirking was evident even through her webcam’s low resolution. “I don’t hear you denying your crush on Carmilla.”

“Betty.” But Laura knew she was right. She couldn’t stop thinking about Carmilla from the moment she had gotten off the SkyTrain the night before. Had Carmilla always been that attractive? Did she always have that charming sense of humour? Was conversation really that easy between them? Laura was aware that they had only literally met once before, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something there. A spark. God, Betty was right again. She was an idiot.

“Earth to Hollis,” Betty said. “What’s stopping you from just asking Carmilla out, anyway? I mean, you two have had  _ two  _ whole conversations, and you like a lot of the same things.”

“Besides me being painfully and embarrassingly awkward?” Laura cringed even as she said it.

Betty nodded emphatically, though on the pixelated screen, it looked as if she had gotten decapitated. “Yes,” she said. “Besides that.”

“She’s just so hard to read, you know? Like, it’s way easier to talk to her than it should be, but I feel like she’s the kind of person that’s hard to get to know,” Laura said. “Also, I think she’s like, loaded.”

“What makes you think that?”

“She went to McGill for university but she mentioned to me that she grew up in Vancouver.”

“So? I’m from Calgary and I went to SFU,” Betty said. “I’m the furthest thing from loaded.”

“Who goes to  _ McGill _ when they can go to UBC?” Laura wondered. “Only people with money, right? Getting to party it up in Montreal, away from adult supervision.”

“Maybe she got a scholarship,” Betty said. “Anyway, Laura, why should it matter if Carmilla’s got money or not? You’re being judgy again and you need to stop, because from what you’ve told me, she seems like a nice person. What does she do anyway? You’ve Googled her, right?”

“Of course I’ve Googled her. Back when she still had my bag,” Laura said. “She works for Silas Entertainment. I think she’s like a programmer or an engineer or something.” She focused her attention on the desktop monitors in front of her, and spotted an error in her timeline. Momentarily ignoring Betty, she reached for her mouse to fix it.

Through her headphones, she could hear the sound of a clacking keyboard, and Betty murmuring to herself. And then a tiny gasp. “Hollis,” she said. “Your Carmilla’s kind of a big deal.”

“Huh?” Laura asked, completely ignoring how Betty just referred to Carmilla as  _ hers _ .

“Carmilla Karnstein, right? Looks like you didn’t Google that thoroughly,” Betty said. “She’s the Chief Product Director at Silas Entertainment.”

Laura froze. “What did you just say?”

Betty repeated herself, and then elaborated further. “She’s not just a programmer or an engineer. She’s, like,  _ in charge  _ of them. Like,  _ Mushroomocalypse _ ?” She was referring to the new mobile game that everyone was addicted to. “She probably  _ supervised  _ that while they were making it. And she’s probably a millionaire by now, not even exaggerating.”

“Yeah, you’re probably exaggerating,” Laura said. 

“Nah, I think you’re right about her being loaded,” Betty said.

“Not helping, Betty!” Still, Laura couldn’t help but process this bit of information. Carmilla was only two years older than her, but she was way more successful. And way busier. And earned _way_ more money. That just confirmed one thing: Carmilla was way out of her league. “No wonder she hasn’t replied to me, then.”

“Oh, Laura,” Betty said. “She’s probably just testing out a new game or something.”

“Is that a thing a Chief Product Director does?” Laura asked.

Betty shrugged. “I’ve got no freaking clue.”

* * *

It was approaching 5PM on a Friday, so Carmilla was past the idea of needing another coffee, and was already onto the idea of needing the harder stuff. She went through the mental inventory of what she had at home. There was that bottle of wine that Mattie had brought back from Germany. Or the assortment of vodkas that she had bought from duty free during her last business trip. And there was always the old favourite: Canadian whiskey. There was nothing better after a hard day.

And then she went through her dinner options, because the only thing Carmilla liked more than drinking was eating. Should she pick food up before she went on the SkyTrain? Or should she just get it delivered? There were so many options, so many possibilities. She hadn’t even gotten around to picking what to watch on Netflix yet.

Carmilla was already standing up, shrugging her jacket on, and was about to log off her desktop when she remembered that she still hadn’t replied to Laura’s email—which she received five hours ago. Dammit. Laura probably thought she was an asshole, and Carmilla normally didn’t give a toss whether people thought she was an asshole or not, but this was different. She checked the clock in the corner of her screen. It was 5PM. Lunch was out of the question.

She clicked ‘Reply’. Fingers hovering over the keyboard, she tried to think of something to say.  _ Sorry for not replying to your email - have had a crazy day _ , she began. And then she pressed the backspace key.

“Damn, you couldn’t even say hi first? How impolite,” she berated herself.

_ Hi Laura _ , she typed.  _ Sorry for not replying to your email sooner. I’ve had a crazy day. And I’m also sorry for missing lunch. I hope you had a good one. _

“Ugh,” Carmilla muttered. “Now I’m starting to sound like her.” But she repressed the urge to delete it and start all over again. It was time to take a risk.

She continued typing:  _ Are you still in the city? Do you want to grab dinner? I know this great Vietnamese place - if that’s your thing. If not tonight, maybe we can meet up another time _ .

Carmilla cringed. That last sentence was a bit too pathetic. She deleted it, and instead, wrote,  _ Let me know _ . She signed it off and clicked ‘Send’.

Laura’s reply came not even five minutes later:  _ I  _ love  _ Vietnamese food. I’m just about to leave work now. Tell me the address and I’ll meet you there? Laura _

Carmilla let out a breath she didn’t even realise she was holding.

* * *

There was no way that this could be a date. It was just a courtesy, an apology for not replying to a lunch invitation. Or a casual catch-up between two people bonded by a bizarre experience. It was definitely not a date; they didn’t even know each other that well yet.

But wasn’t that why people went on dates? To get to know each other?

“Calm down, Laura, jeez,” Laura told herself. “It’s just dinner. People go get dinner all the time. Stop overthinking this!”

“Laura? You okay?” Scott, the manager of the editing suite she was working in, asked her.

“Totally fine.” Laura gave him a tight-lipped smile. “I was just about to leave.”

“Yeah, me too,” Scott said. “Have a good weekend?”

“I will. You too,” Laura said. “Thanks Scott.” She watched as Scott disappeared into this office, and then turned her attention back to fussing with her stuff and thinking about Carmilla.

Laura went and got dinner with other people all the time, and only a very small— _ pitiful _ , really—percentage of those were dates. Of course, none of those dinners were with a super attractive and super successful woman like Carmilla. But again, she was just overthinking. That was what she was good at.

According to Google Maps, the restaurant that Carmilla suggested was just a fifteen-minute walk from where Laura was working. She made sure all her things were packed, and she even tidied up the editing suite a little bit. She had been sitting there the whole week; it was the least she could do. Finally, she left the office, butterflies taking up increasing space in her stomach. But there was no use delaying the inevitable.

Carmilla was already outside the restaurant when Laura got there. Aside from her blue button-down shirt, she was wearing all black—pants, leather jacket, boots—with the backpack on her shoulders.

Laura couldn’t resist smiling.

“Laura, hi.” Carmilla had spotted her. “How are you?”

“Carmilla!” Laura tried to make it look like she wasn’t smiling dopily just then. “Yeah, I’m great. It’s, uh, cool that we’re gonna have dinner. I mean, it’s nice to see you.” Wow, even she impressed herself with how  _ uncool  _ she sounded.

“Well, it’s the least I could do after not replying to your email soon enough,” Carmilla said. “You didn’t have trouble finding this place?”

“No, Google Maps was pretty helpful.” Seriously, where was she coming up with this stuff?

While Laura was mentally kicking herself, Carmilla didn’t even seem fazed about anything that Laura had been saying. “I’m glad,” she said. She gestured to the door. “Shall we go in? I’m hungry. I kinda skipped lunch.”

“Yeah, let’s go in. After you,” Laura said. They walked in through the doors. It was the opposite of a fancy restaurant, with its stark fluorescent lighting and lack of tablecloths. This made Laura feel a little less nervous. She followed Carmilla who was weaving through the tables until she found an empty one for two. “You skipped lunch, huh?”

Carmilla removed her backpack and then sat on the chair. She waited for Laura to do the same. “Yeah, things were really terrible at work today,” she said.

“Yeah? Tell me about it,” Laura said.

But Carmilla was only interested in the restaurant’s menu. “How about let’s get some spring rolls first, and then I’ll tell you about it?” she suggested.

Laura nodded. “Deal.”

* * *

At this point in their dinner, Carmilla had consumed spring rolls, both fresh and deep fried, wontons,  _ and  _ chicken wings. Their mains hadn’t arrived yet. But Laura didn’t look like she was judging her yet, and if Carmilla knew anything about Laura, it was that she had judgemental tendencies. So that was a good sign.

Besides, Laura was also indulging in the food. After a quick question about how they were paying for it, to which Carmilla gave the clearly satisfactory response of, “We’ll split it in half,” she went ahead and ordered another plate of chicken wings  _ and  _ a mango shake. So that was another thing that Carmilla knew about Laura. She  _ really  _ liked chicken wings and semi-frozen drinks.

“So, tell me about your terrible day at work,” Laura said, as she finished her last chicken wing. She wiped her hands on a napkin before picking her mango shake up and drinking it noisily.

Carmilla sighed. “I shouldn’t complain, really. I’m lucky to be where I am,” she said. “I just don’t feel like being in charge is a good fit for me.”

“What do you mean?” Laura asked.

Carmilla assumed that Laura didn’t know what she specifically did for a living. She scratched her head as she tried to think of the best possible way to explain herself, without divulging any details. “Uh, I’m in charge of a bunch of people at work, and I don’t really do a lot of the hands-on work anymore, which sucks because I do enjoy that part of it. You know, the programming and all… Instead I’m like this management person who can’t seem to get along with anyone.”

“You work in tech, right?” Laura asked thoughtfully. “Don’t do they lots of team-building activities? Like, hackathons or something. Why don’t you do that?”

“Well, it’s logistically difficult to organise a hackathon with the number of people we have,” Carmilla said. She remembered her early days on a developer team at Silas Entertainment. They only had hackathons amongst themselves, not as the entire product division. And they were smaller back then.

“The number of people? How big is your team?” Laura asked.

“Uh, like, around a hundred people,” Carmilla said. Cat was out of the bag.

“Jeez, that’s not a team. That’s like, a department. Front up, Carmilla,” Laura challenged. “What do you really do?”

“I’m in charge of development at Silas, which sounds cool and fancy, but it’s not that fun. It’s actually a whole lot of emails and meetings. Not enough time in a dark room, looking at computer code,” Carmilla said. “That’s my idea of a fun time, but it can’t be like that forever.”

“Why not?” Laura asked. “You’re a boss, right? So you can do whatever you want.”

“It’s not that easy,” Carmilla said.

“They must trust you so much to give you this much responsibility. You’re so young,” Laura said.

“Oh yes, I get reminded of that every day,” Carmilla said. “I was an engineer for them, right after I graduated from university. The big boss just felt like the company needed a shakeup. I remember her calling it a refresh. So you know, I was promoted.” She left out the part where the CEO actually fired or reassigned her colleagues in her department, in favour of hiring the new development teams that now report to her.

“I know we Millennials have heavy financial burdens, but you ever think of moving elsewhere? Some place that doesn’t pay as well, but at least you still get to do what you love doing?” Laura suggested. Then she clapped a hand over her mouth. “I mean, I’m sorry, I must be like, crossing several different boundaries there.”

“No, your opinion is completely valid,” Carmilla reassured her. “But as I said, it’s not that easy.” She shrugged. “It’s okay. A couple more years and I should be able to throw my weight around a little more. Maybe get my hands dirty again.”

“Well, I will cross my fingers for you on that one,” Laura said.

“Thank you, I guess,” Carmilla said. “But enough about me.” There was a brief pause in their conversation as they watched the server lower their main dishes onto their table. They both thanked him, and when he walked away, Carmilla continued: “How about you? You’ve never told me about what you do.” Like she didn’t Google Laura already.

Laura made a sound that Carmilla decided was an embarrassed giggle. “I do a few things,” she said, and when Carmilla prompted for her to go on, she cleared her throat. “Uhm, I’m a freelance film editor, and sometimes I do camera stuff too, but because that’s not enough to pay the bills, I do assistant work at a post-production studio. That’s not a full-time job but I get really busy around spring and summer, when everyone’s filming.”

“What kind of projects do you edit?” Carmilla asked.

“At the studio, we do quite a few local shows, and also like one or two of the American shows that film in Vancouver,” Laura began.

“I meant your freelance work, Laura,” Carmilla said.

“Oh.” Laura giggled again. “YouTube ads, mainly. Or like the autoplay ads that are on news websites? I  _ hate  _ those ads, but PR firms for the big companies always pay well. And I edit web series as well.”

“And what are you working on now? Can you tell me?” Carmilla asked. “It’s just, you sounded like you weren’t having fun with it.”

“Well. It’s my first ever TV commercial.” Under the fluorescent lighting, it was very apparent that Laura was blushing. “It’s for, uh, Viagra.”

Carmilla burst out laughing. She just couldn’t stop herself. “I’m sorry, but I have to ask,” she said. “Are you a millionaire now? Because their PR firm must have given them a  _ big  _ budget.”

Laura was still blushing, but she managed to laugh, too. “Oh no, not a millionaire, but I’m pretty comfortable,” she joked. “God, it’s embarrassing, huh? And just my luck, too. Trust them to find a lesbian film editor to do their brand new TV spot for Adult Swim. Actually,  _ two  _ TV spots!”

Carmilla decided not to acknowledge the lesbian comment, but frankly, she was glad to no longer have to guess that. “It’s for Adult Swim?”

“No? I don’t know?” Laura frowned. “I’ve never actually seen anything on Adult Swim. That’s just an expression I’ve heard people say.”

Carmilla laughed again. “Well, you lead a very colourful life, don’t you?”

“It’s funny you say that,” Laura said. “Because those ads needed a lot of colour-correcting. It was almost… too bland. For Viagra, that is. Not that I would know.” And then she broke down into a fit of giggles. Sincere ones, without any trace of embarrassment or nervousness.

It was safe to say that when dinner finished, Carmilla felt the lightest she had in weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your comments! I'm glad that you enjoyed the first chapter. I'm keen to hear what you thought of this second one as well.


	3. Chapter 3

It had been three weeks since their Vietnamese dinner—not that Laura was counting—and they hadn’t seen each other since, but they had exchanged a few emails, which eventually evolved into messaging. 

Not that Laura was placing arbitrary measurements of intimacy on channels of communication.

As she stepped out of a meeting with a director and the editor she was assisting, her phone buzzed. Carmilla had sent her two photos: one of a mushroom plush toy from  _ Mushroomocalypse _ , and a photo of a stack of pizza boxes. The accompanying message read:  _ Pizza party at work because of new Mushroom merch. You jealous? _

Laura was smiling as she tapped out a reply:  _ I’m more of a sushi party kinda gal.  _ Pizza was the food of production teams, when they had a sixteen-hour day on location and the stale sandwiches from craft services just weren’t cutting it. Post-production teams, however, preferred sushi. Neat, bite-sized, and highly unlikely to drip grease all over the expensive editing suite rig.

Carmilla wrote back not even a minute later:  _ Noted. But I call a bit of bullshit on that one. No one turns down pizza _ .

_ You got me there. Nothing can beat a freshly made California roll _ , Laura replied. And then the editor beckoned her into the editing suite.  _ Okay, time to sort through some footage _ , she typed hurriedly. _ Talk to you later _ .

* * *

Carmilla watched as her colleagues enjoyed their pizza slices, and then they were hastily wiping their fingers on napkins, before they picked up the new  _ Mushroomocalypse  _ plushies and took selfies with them. Someone had hooked up their phone to the office sound system to play a Top 40 playlist on Spotify. A handful of guys from the Zeta development team were dancing, while an equal handful of the much more socially awkward Alchemy developers—the ones who worked on  _ Mushroomocalypse _ —hung out on the fringes, watching them with wistful looks on their faces. They wished they were that cool, that easygoing.

Carmilla thought that working in game development was the easiest way to keep feeling young. It was the career for people who didn’t feel like growing up. The fact that they were having something close to a proper party at  _ literally  _ midday, while the rest of the downtown Vancouver were probably having working lunches at their desks, only proved her right.

“Hey gidget, I see we’re having fun.”

“Mattie.” Carmilla turned around to greet Silas Entertainment’s Operations Director. “Well, yes,” she gestured at the group of Summer Society developers taking a group photo with the plushies, “they’re having fun.”

“I was talking about you.” Mattie only worked two floors above them, but she might as well be outfitted for a different company, with her black sheath dress and matching Louboutins. “Why don’t you go join the  _ bros  _ over there?” She nodded towards the dancing Zetas, who have managed to rope in an Alchemy nerd or two in their group.

Carmilla chuckled. “You know that’s not my thing,” she said. “What brings you here, Mattie?” 

“I heard the new merch was out, so I decided to see how things are,” Mattie said.

“Things are great,” Carmilla said.

“Clearly,” Mattie agreed. “Also, I need to have a word with you about the Canadian Gaming Summit. Shall we go in your office?”

“Uh, sure. Come on.” Carmilla walked across the bullpen to her office, with Mattie on her heels. The summit was not for another couple of months, and they had their presentation mostly sorted—the heavy lifting was done mainly by the marketing end—but she quickly learned to expect last-minute additions and amendments that involved her people. When they were both in the office, Carmilla shut the door to block out the noise from the bullpen. “All right, Mattie, what’s up?” she asked.

“The summit committee called and they’re giving us an additional five minutes for our presentation,” Mattie said.

“What? Why?” Carmilla asked.

“Well, since the summit is in Vancouver, and we’re the largest Vancouver-based publisher, they thought it would be appropriate that we get the chance to do a proper showcase,” Mattie said. “So, I was thinking, we should do something with that new game the Summers are making.”

“ _ Adonis Hunt _ ? That’s still in beta.”

“What’s the release timeline on that?” Mattie asked.

Carmilla racked her brain. “October,” she said. “You know, just in time for the university kids to get settled in.”

“Fantastic. It can be our big item for the presentation,” Mattie said. “Why don’t we release a teaser and then offer guaranteed beta copies to a few handpicked journalists?”

“I’ll have to talk to the Summers about it.” Developers tended to be fiercely protective of their projects. “I’ll get back to you as soon as possible, though.”

“You do that, Carm,” Mattie said. She glanced at her phone screen and let out a long-suffering sigh. “I have to go,” she told Carmilla. “HR needs me to sort something out. I swear, they are so much trouble than they’re worth.”

“Good luck with that,” Carmilla said. “It was nice of you to drop by, Mattie.”

“No problem, darling,” Mattie said. “Let me know what the Summers say. Bye!” With her usual flourish, she left Carmilla’s office and made a beeline for the elevator.

Well, that was yet  _ another  _ thing on Carmilla’s to-do list.

* * *

Back at university, Laura had the fortunate experience of being able to work on the three phases of production. She had an affinity for all of them, actually. The overwhelming mental stress of pre-production, where they had nothing but the source material and a ragtag team. The organised chaos of production, where for at least ten days straight, the ragtag team would work eighteen-hour days in the notoriously unpredictable Vancouver weather and still be friends—or at least  _ friendly _ —at the end of it. And then there was the mind-numbing meticulousness of post-production, spent mostly in front of two or three large computer monitors, working until the lines started to get jumbled up.

For some strange reason, Laura, who developed a reputation for carrying a backpack stuffed with every on-set essential that one could think of, and for not needing a drop of caffeine, found that her true passion lay in the editing suite. When her university friends asked her why, her go-to reply was: “No port-a-potties, shorter days, better food.” And who could argue with that?

Laura’s first task on a typical day was to receive the rushes from whichever production assistant was assigned the errand. The rushes came in the form of labelled solid state drives, which were collected by another production assistant at 6PM, ready to be filled up again. Today’s production assistant looked haggard and sleep-deprived, and Laura told him to hang in there. He walked off muttering something about coffee orders.

Laura went back to the studio, transferred the rushes onto one of the suite’s desktops, and then started the arduous task of processing them. While she was waiting for a batch to finish, she stepped out to the kitchenette to prepare coffee in the French press. She glanced at the clock on microwave. Any minute now…

Like clockwork, the doors of the elevator whirred open, and then the sound of footsteps. And then: “Laura? You in here?”

“Yes!” Laura poured the coffee in a thermos, chucked in a couple of teaspoons of sugar, and a dash of trim milk. She screwed the lid on tight and, as quickly as she could, walked out into the hallway. “Good morning!” she greeted the middle-aged woman walking towards her.

“Good morning, Laura.” The woman reached for the thermos. “Thank you for the coffee.”

“You’re welcome!” Laura said. “Your desktop is ready to go.” She made it a point to enter the studio at least forty-five minutes before her boss arrived, just to get the administrative tasks out of the way.

“Great, thanks for that.” Elizabeth Cochran was one of Vancouver’s most in-demand TV and film editors. Laura didn’t know exactly how old she was—late 40s to early 50s, perhaps—but she knew she had been in the industry for decades. Nellie, as she inexplicably preferred to be called, was never intimidating and always polite, but she had high standards and wasn’t afraid to let her assistants know if they weren’t meeting them.

The rest of the morning went by as normal, with Laura processing the rest of the footage on a second desktop while Nellie continued work on the episode. Occasionally, she would ask for Laura's input, which she gladly gave. After all, the first rule of working in post-production was to keep one's head down until someone asks, and when asked, one had to make sure they gave a damn good answer.

They stopped work for lunch at around 1PM. Laura was staring at her dismal container of salad in the fridge when the studio phone rang. She picked it up. It was someone from the security desk downstairs. Apparently there was a food delivery downstairs.

“Nellie, did you order anything for lunch?” Laura asked.

“Sadly not,” Nellie said.

“Well, apparently one of us did,” Laura said.

“Why don’t you go take a walk and check it out?” Nellie suggested.

“All right.” 

Laura went to the lobby and spotted a pimply young man standing at the security desk, paper bag in hand. “Hey. Food delivery?” she asked.

“Yep.” The man handed her the paper bag. “It’s already been paid for. There’s a note inside.” He gave a half-assed salute, and then turned on his heel, half-jogging out the exit.

“Uh, thanks, I guess?” Laura said to his retreating bag. She shared a look with the security guards.

“College kids, huh?” he grunted.

“Definitely,” Laura said. On the elevator back to the studio, she reached inside the paper bag for the note. It was typed and printed out on paper that was a bit thicker than standard copy paper.

It read:  _ To Laura, this is the freshest California roll I could order. Hope you enjoy. Carmilla _

And then, below that:  _ P.S. Expect a phone call from me later _ .

Laura tucked the note into her pocket and then peered inside the bag. Yup, that was definitely a container full of California roll in there. She looked up at her reflection on the elevator walls and realised that she had the stupidest grin on her face. Was this Carmilla’s attempt at being romantic? Her typical bluntness aside, it was working.

* * *

In hindsight, suggesting to meet at her favourite fair trade, artisan coffee shop was what Carmilla thought Laura would describe as a Hipster Power Move. But Carmilla couldn’t stomach the thought of sitting in Starbucks again. She had drawn the metaphorical line in the sand, and she wasn’t going to apologise for it.

And yet, the first words she said to Laura as soon as she sat across from her was, “Sorry about this place. I know it’s a bit…” she trailed off and shrugged.

“What do you mean?” Laura asked. She looked around the decor of the small coffee shop. “It’s rustic.” She noticed that a server was coming over to their table. “And you even get table service.”

“Uh, yeah, I guess that’s cool.” Carmilla decided not to mention that they got table service because of who she was. She gave the server her order and Laura did the same. When the server walked away, Carmilla turned back to Laura. “So, how’s production season treating you?”

“It’s been smooth sailing so far. We’re aiming for picture lock on this episode we’re working on by the end of the week, and I’m already booking studio times for the sound editor for that last episode for next week,” Laura said. “Sorry, you probably didn’t get any of that.”

“That’s okay,” Carmilla said. She could listen to Laura go on forever, to be honest, even if she only understood every second word. She cleared her throat. “Uh, the reason I wanted to see you was, uh… Do you think your boss can go on without you for a bit?”

“Sorry?”

“Silas Entertainment is planning to release this teaser for one of our new games at the Canadian Gaming Summit,” Carmilla said. “And you know, I was thinking, you can do some filming and editing for us.”

A dark, tense expression momentarily crossed Laura’s face. She then cleared her throat awkwardly. “Oh, but don’t you have the resources to have like, a full on film crew for that kind of stuff?” she asked.

“We were thinking of doing something a little different. This game is kind of nothing like we’ve ever done before, so my idea was to showcase it in a new way, you know? But yeah, I don’t really know much about that stuff,” Carmilla said. “So, I was thinking, would you like to come by HQ sometime? I’ll introduce you to the development team and we can run through a few ideas… Only if you can get time off work, that is. And only if you want to.”

Laura had reached into her backpack for her planner, and she was flipping through it quickly, almost furiously. “I’ll have to help Nellie finish the picture lock, but I’ll see if she can get a different assistant for the episodes that are coming up,” she spoke without meeting Carmilla’s eyes. “I’m sure she can.” Finally, she looked up again. “So when do you want me to come to your office?”

* * *

That was another lesson learned for Laura. When a beautiful woman sends sushi to one’s workplace, soon followed by arrangements to meet at a coffee shop that _ wasn’t  _ Starbucks, one shouldn’t interpret it as anything romantic. Like, come on. Thinking that was ridiculous.

She went to Carmilla’s office anyway. They had their initial meeting, which was with Carmilla, one of leaders of the development team for  _ Adonis Hunt _ , and a guy called Will, who was apparently the Marketing Officer for Silas Entertainment, though he looked like he could be younger than Laura.

As much as possible, Laura was a beacon of professionalism, even in the rare minute or two that she was left alone with Carmilla. She couldn’t tell if Carmilla was weirded out by it, but she tried not to care. Carmilla wanted her business? Her skills? That was what she had to offer. At the end of the meeting, she had written down a list of what she needed for the work to get started. On top of it was the team members that she needed, along with a list of names and contact details for recommendations. The position of director was non-negotiable. Laura wanted Betty, and she asked Carmilla if Silas Entertainment could fly her up from Los Angeles.

To Laura’s surprise, Carmilla agreed.

Two days later, Betty was back in Vancouver, and then three days after that, she and Laura were at Silas HQ, about to present the storyboards for  _ Adonis Hunt _ .

Carmilla had them set up in the boardroom, and then excused herself to usher the other Silas staff in. Will was the first to enter, and then Mel, the Summer Society team leader. The next person to come in was the last person Laura expected to see.

“Laura Hollis? Is that you?”

“Holy crap.” Laura dropped whatever she was doing to rush over to the latest arrival. “Danny! What are you doing here?”

Danny—still tall, red-headed and girl next door-pretty as the day Laura last saw her—beamed. “I work here! Didn’t you know?” she asked. When Laura shook her head, she shook hers, too. “Well, it’s so great to see you, Laura.” She opened her arms for a hug.

As Laura and Danny were hugging, someone behind them cleared their throat.

It was Carmilla. She looked back and forth between Laura and Danny. “So,” she drawled, “you two know each other?”

* * *

It turned out that Laura and Danny Lawrence knew each other at SFU, and judging from the weird looks that Betty, the director Laura insisted on hiring, was giving them, it was apparent that they more than “knew each other”. For Carmilla, this wasn’t an explanation for Laura’s recent peculiar behaviour. After all, it looked like she didn’t even know that Danny worked at Silas until the storyboard meeting.

Carmilla always had a good sense of why people treated her the way they did, but she was never the kind of person who asked any further questions about it. No, she was the kind of person who would rather ruminate on it internally until it ate her up.

Laura and Betty’s concept was to shoot a “dynamic gameplay demonstration” through a bunch of GoPros and conventional cameras. The timeline for the shoot was three days around various public places in Vancouver, four if they really needed it. Carmilla wasn’t present for the entirety of the shoot. She didn’t need to be, since it wasn’t her department. That didn’t stop her from dropping by anyway. Mainly to see how Laura was doing.

While Laura looked like she belonged on a film set, with her hair up in a ponytail as she squinted at the camera’s display monitor, Carmilla felt out of her depth. Everyone knew what they were doing and where they were supposed to be at any given time, and Carmilla just stood there, watching as nonchalantly as she could.

This was difficult, because every time there was a break, Danny would just amble right over to Laura and they would have a nice pleasant chat that involved plenty of laughing and arm touching.

Carmilla didn’t stay there for more than an hour each day, and it still drove her crazy, watching the two of them.

She just didn’t  _ understand _ . Mattie wanted a teaser for  _ Adonis Hunt _ , and when the two of them met with Will about it, Will was prepared to call up his contacts to see if they could get a production team right away. But Carmilla brought up the idea of hiring Laura instead. Why not try something different, right?

And frankly, it was an excuse for Carmilla to see her more. Yes, she might have forgotten that Laura wasn’t going to be making the  _ Adonis Hunt  _ teaser forever, and that a simple invitation to coffee, brunch, lunch or dinner would have sufficed. But Carmilla had a proven track record of trying to be romantic, only to make a fool of herself.

* * *

Laura understood that she had already made Silas Entertainment pay for Betty’s travel expenses to Vancouver, so she didn’t want to ask them to spring for an editing studio. Besides, most studios were fully booked this time of year, and the ones that weren’t… well, that was for a reason. And so the next best setup was what she had always done, since being part of her AV club in high school: her den at home.

That was one of the advantages of still living with her dad. She was only slightly embarrassed by that, but she had student loans to pay, and her dad would be living alone in the suburbs otherwise. Besides, she was not the greatest when it came to cohabitating with other people.

And also, would she able to have the space and the privacy to set up a makeshift editing suite in a cramped apartment where three other people lived?

Still, it didn’t help Laura from feeling a bit queasy when Will from Silas Entertainment emailed her, asking if he could drop by to see the cut before it was picture locked. Laura agreed to it, gave Will her address, and explained that she was working on it at home. She steeled herself for Will’s inevitable judgement. The guy was only at least her age, and he probably already owned a vacation house to complement his bachelor pad in the city.

The morning before Will was supposed to arrive, Laura cleaned the house in a frenzy. Well, she only cleaned the downstairs area and the den. There was no way Will was going to go upstairs anyway. What was he going to see there? The bedrooms?

Laura even went out to the supermarket to buy slightly more expensive coffee, a six-pack of Coke, and a couple of oven pizzas—the premium brand ones, not the supermarket house brand. In case he got peckish.

1:30PM came and… there was nothing. 1:45… still no sign of Will. 

Laura presumed that he had gotten lost on the way here—and who could blame him?—and was about to call him, but then the doorbell rang. “Oh, finally,” she sprung off the living room couch and unlatched the door. She pulled it open to be greeted by Carmilla.

Wait.  _ Carmilla _ ?

“Hi,” Carmilla said, which was accompanied with an awkward wave. “Will had to do some damage control on a stupid thing a Zeta tweeted, so… here I am. You never told me you lived so close to the SkyTrain.” 

“Uh, hi.” Laura’s heart started beating so fast that she could hear it in her ears. “Come in, come in.” She ushered Carmilla inside and gestured for her to take her shoes off. “Uh, do you want anything to drink? Or eat?”

“I just had lunch, so that’s all right. Thanks,” Carmilla said.

“Okay, I guess I should just show you what I’ve got then.” Laura led her down the stairs to the den, where her laptop was hooked up to two monitors. She couldn’t help a small smile as she looked at her editing timeline. That was one  _ clean  _ timeline. She pointed at the chair she had wheeled in next to hers. “Take a seat?”

Carmilla had placed her backpack on the floor, and the framed photos on top of a shelf of DVDs and Blu-Rays had grabbed her attention. “Is that your father with Ryan Reynolds?” she asked Laura.

Laura walked over and examined the photo that Carmilla was talking about. Her dad, in his everyday attire of a flannel shirt with jeans, standing next to Ryan Reynolds, who was either just wearing designer clothing or was in costume for an action film. The actor had his arm around her dad. “Yeah, that was taken a year ago, I think,” she said. “My dad does carpentry for studios and soundstages.”

“Ah, so a family in the film industry, then,” Carmilla said, with a hint of a smile.

“We’ve actually been on the team for a couple of projects. Of course, I’m in post-production, so…” Laura trailed off. She knew she had been acting pissed off at Carmilla for the last three weeks, but that was when they were around other people. This was the longest they’ve been together, just by themselves, in those three weeks, and Laura could feel her guard slipping. Carmilla’s presence always had this effect on her, even when she wasn’t supposed to be pissed off. She straightened her posture. “Come on,” she jerked her head back towards the desk with the two monitors, “let’s have a look at the rough cut.”

After they watched the rough cut, Carmilla turned her chair to face Laura. “Wow,” she said. “That concept turned out way better than you and Betty storyboarded it.”

Laura pouted. “So you’re saying that our storyboards were bad?”

“I wasn’t saying that!” Carmilla exclaimed. Then, apparently genuinely worried that she had offended Laura, her expression sobered. “No, Laura, honestly,” she said, in a much more even tone. “This is so cool. And it’s just the rough cut, too. With the music and everything else, it’ll look even better, I’m sure.”

“Well.” Laura tried not to squirm under the weight of Carmilla’s uncharacteristically earnest gaze. “Don’t overhype it now.” She clicked around randomly on the timeline, and a frame with Danny in it came up on the screen.

Carmilla nodded towards it. “So, you and Danny seem to know each other very well,” she said.

Laura tried not to analyse the way she said it  _ too much _ . “I told you, we went to SFU together,” she said. “Well, no, she was like, two years above me. We met at this mixer for LGBT students, and we became friends, and we lost touch like a year after she graduated.”

“Just friends?” Carmilla asked. “I mean, I’m just curious, you know… You guys looked really close. And Betty kept giving you those weird looks, like,” her face contorted in what was apparently an impression of Betty, “whenever you two were talking.”

“Ugh, really? I can’t believe Betty won’t let that go,” Laura said. “I used to have a crush on Danny back when we were at university, when we first met, then the longer we became friends, I was like, ‘Oh, I don’t actually like you like that.’”

Carmilla shifted in her seat. “Well, I can see why you would have a crush on someone like her.” Her voice sounded stilted, like she didn’t want to talk about it anymore.

“Oh yeah, she was a little bit of a superstar back then,” Laura said. “But I’m not into that anymore. You know, people who are always trying to be heroes. Turns out that’s not my thing.” She was so close to daring Carmilla to ask her what—or  _ who _ —she was into.

But instead, Carmilla asked her: “Laura, are we okay?”

Laura was taken aback. “What do you mean?”

“It’s just, uh, it seems like I did something to make you upset. Like you know, you haven’t really been talking to me much, and you haven’t been responding to my texts about maybe hanging out,” Carmilla said. “And even at work, we’re in the same room and I feel like you’ve been avoiding me.” She watched for Laura’s reaction. “It sounds silly, I know. You’ve been busy, I understand that, but -”

Now Laura felt bad. Her passive-aggressive behaviour actually bothered Carmilla to the point that she was sitting in Laura’s den, looking like a wounded puppy. Laura was petty, and for the first time, someone actually fronted up and told her how it made them feel. This was what Betty was warning her about. It  _ sucked _ .

“Carm, stop,” Laura said. Instinctively, she reached for Carmilla’s hands, taking them in her own. “I’m sorry. I was just like, so swamped with these other issues in my head and I guess it was affecting the way I treat other people,” she paused to correct herself, “affecting the way I treat a friend.”

“So I didn’t do anything to piss you off, then?” Carmilla asked.

Laura emphatically shook her head. “Nah, you didn’t,” she said. “That was just me being stupid.”

“All right.” Carmilla was visibly relieved. “Oh man, I was going over like every conversation we had to see if I had said something shitty.” She exhaled loudly. “You know, I was so confused.”

The guilt was about to consume Laura. How could she do this to a friend? Carmilla did so much. The sushi, the  _ Adonis Hunt  _ project… And all Laura had to show for it was petulant behaviour. She was about to apologise again—well, really,  _ grovel _ —and was halfway to opening her mouth when…

“Laura,” a man’s voice boomed from the foot of the stairs. “Why don’t you introduce me to the nice young lady sitting beside you?”

Laura pulled her hands away from Carmilla as both of them spun their chairs to the direction of the voice. “Dad!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may have noticed, this is a pretty low stakes fic. You know how I like my Hollstein in different settings, and I thought it was about time to write a fic that was just basically shallow fluff. Just dusting the cobwebs off my writing fingers!


	4. Chapter 4

Spending time with Laura in a professional context was less than ideal, since Carmilla’s thoughts kept drifting to actions that were definitely less than professional. But the main thing was that her and Laura were back to normal again. She was happy about that. After showing Will, Mattie, and the Summers the final cut of the  _ Adonis Hunt  _ trailer, Carmilla and Laura went out to an izakaya restaurant to celebrate.

“How's your dad?” Carmilla asked. Laura's father was more intimidating than he looked, but he also made a great mac and cheese, and was all too happy to tell stories of Laura's childhood on film sets.

“Busy,” Laura said. “Michael Bay's new project is prepping for production so he's been busy building these huge rigs at the soundstage.”

“It's not a Michael Bay film if he's not shooting on a soundstage.”

“He has an insane amount of money to spend, though,” Laura said, shrugging.

Carmilla often found it a challenge to process that the Hollises, who lived and breathed film, always had to make pragmatic choices to make sure they were earning enough money. “Well, I'm sure Sherman can make anything work with any budget.”

“That's true,” Laura said. She smiled. “You and Dad are on a first-name basis now?”

“He said he preferred it that way. Is that a problem?” Carmilla smiled back at her.

“Nah, it's just that hardly any of my friends get that chummy with my dad.”

“Is that a problem?” Carmilla asked again.

“No,” Laura said. “I don't suppose it is.”

Carmilla decided to bring the subject back to  _ Adonis Hunt _ . “So, the next stage, at Silas anyway, is to throw a party at the office, where we screen the trailer and then have some food and  _ a lot  _ of drinks, and play video games. You know, normal nerd shit,” she said. “Anyway, I was hoping you could come along.”

“Will that be all right?” Laura asked.

“Why won’t it be? You made it all happen,” Carmilla said. “Plus, you’ll get to meet some of the other developer teams. The Alchemy Club are weirdos but they find their own ways of having fun. And the Zetas… Did they have fraternities at SFU? Imagine if all the computer science majors from the frats managed to graduate and ended up on one dev team.” She was aware that she was being unusually talkative, but she really wanted Laura to come to the party, and she learned that the quickest way to entice Laura to go somewhere is to offer opportunities for people-watching.

“Frat guys?  _ Graduating _ ?” Laura asked. She looked sufficiently intrigued.

“Sometimes I feel like getting HR to call their universities up to see if those degrees are legitimate.”

“And let me guess, Alchemy Club was responsible for  _ Mushroomocalypse _ ?”

Carmilla nodded. “I told you, they have a weird way of having fun,” she said. “For some strange reason they all got this obsession with mushrooms last year. So it became a game. Our best seller yet.”

Laura’s brows were slightly furrowed in thought. “At least they expressed their obsessions creatively and productively.”

“That’s not saying much, since Hannibal Lecter technically did the same thing,” Carmilla said.

“Carmilla!” Laura gasped in mock horror.

“So will you come to the party then?” Carmilla asked.

“Yes, I will come to the party,” Laura said.

Fast forward to later that week. It was Friday, past 5PM, but things were still abuzz at Silas Entertainment. The caterers filed in to set up their platters of hors d’oeuvres, and the Zetas filed in from their booze run, with a couple of kegs and a few cases of wine coolers. The Summers had gotten to the sound system first, with a playlist clearly designed to cater to all three development teams: sunny technopop music for the Summers, a mixture of math rock and electronica for the Alchemy Club, and pop punk and heavily censored rap for the Zetas. It was strange and jarring, but it was so very Silas, that Carmilla couldn’t imagine it any other way.

Laura arrived just after 6PM, hair in a ponytail, backpack in tow. She looked around the bullpen, slightly bleary-eyed. 

Carmilla knew she was back at the post-production studio, and was working extra hard because her boss had just been tasked with the season finale of a major Hollywood series. She approached Laura and handed her a can of soda. “Hey there,” she said. “You look like you need one of these.”

“I know I look fifteen, but you couldn’t at least pretend to sneak me a wine cooler?” Laura joked.

“How about you get something to eat first, before we start on the wine coolers?” Carmilla suggested. “Mattie ordered those little sandwiches with the crusts cut off.”

Laura brightened all of a sudden.  _ Of course  _ she would like those sandwiches. “Lead the way, Carm!”

* * *

Laura may have had one too many sandwiches, because as soon as she had enough of them, she noticed that Carmilla had drifted to the other side of the bullpen to greet Will, Mattie and a dignified, middle-aged woman unfamiliar to her. Laura mingled in with the developers, who were well and truly in party mode.

The Zetas were gathered around the keg, solo cups in hand, talking in grumbles. Randomly, they would hoot and howl for seemingly no particular reason. The Alchemy Club, on the other hand, had hooked up several gaming consoles on the TV screens mounted on the far wall of the bullpen. Beanbags were scattered on the floor in front of the screens, and there was a mixture of people from the three dev teams playing a different game on different screens. As far as Laura could tell, they weren’t Silas Entertainment games. One was definitely  _ Mario Kart _ , and another looked like  _ Overwatch _ .

The Summers were scattered around the room, but there was a group of them standing by a projector and a laptop. “Hey, Hollis,” Danny said. “When did you get here?”

“Like, fifteen minutes ago,” Laura replied. She nodded towards the laptop, which had a flash drive plugged into it. “Setting up for the big reveal?”

“Yeah, Carmilla and Will want to get it going in five minutes.” Danny shot a look across the room, where Carmilla was still engaged in conversation with the recent arrivals. “The big boss is here, and she usually doesn’t stay long.”

Laura assumed she was referring to the middle-aged woman. “She seems like the reclusive type,” she commented.

“Oh no, she just goes around different circles,” Danny said. “Hey, the other girls have got this, do you wanna come over to my desk for a sec?” she asked. “I’ve got something for you.”

“Sure.” Laura followed Danny to her desk, which was only a few metres away. She watched as Danny pulled out a glossy rectangular card from her top drawer.

“Here you go,” Danny said. “A pass to the Canadian Gaming Summit. Including a front row seat to the Silas showcase.”

Laura took the card that Danny handed to her. “Wow, Danny -” she began.

“It’s complimentary. All the team leads got two,” Danny explained. “I thought I’d give one to you, since  _ Adonis Hunt  _ wouldn’t even be part of the showcase if you hadn’t put the work in. You should get to see how other people see it.” Then a flash of doubt crossed her face. “Unless Carmilla already hooked you up with a pass…”

“No.” Laura shook her head. “We haven’t even talked about it.”

“Well, you probably should tell her that you’ve already got one,” Danny said. “In case she makes arrangements.”

Laura tried to imagine how Carmilla would react to that, then silently admonished herself for caring about getting a reaction out of Carmilla. “I will,” she told Danny. “Thank you, Danny. I’m excited now.”

“Good. You should be.” Danny grinned at her. “It’ll be one of the highlights of the year.”

“Hey, Danny,” Mel called, causing both Danny and Laura to look over her way. “Will’s asking if we’re ready to go.”

Danny looked back at Laura. “I gotta go,” she said. “Remember, Hollis, this is all you.”

* * *

The screening of the teaser went well. The CEO expressed her satisfaction at the work, and promptly left the party, before Carmilla could ask if she wanted to meet the person responsible for the production of the teaser. Whatever. It was probably not fair to spring that on Laura.

Mattie excused herself soon after, saying that she had a session at the gym that she would hate to miss, and Will had abandoned them long before that to hang out with the Zetas, so naturally, it was Carmilla, on her own, surveying the activity in the bullpen. She spotted Laura’s honey-coloured hair across the room, chatting and laughing with a handful of Summers. Carmilla wanted to talk to her, but she didn’t want to go over there.

What was it people said? It was lonely at the top.

With a wine cooler in hand, Carmilla retreated to her office and closed the door. She twisted the dial on the shades so that she wouldn’t be seen from the bullpen. She didn’t even bother turning on the lights; the haze from her computer screen was enough for her to walk across the office without tripping. She sat on the oversized upholstered nest chair in the corner of her office, which was facing a TV that was mounted on the wall. She pressed a few buttons and the TV came to life, along with the Xbox One that Carmilla kept there. She decided that she would play a quick game of hockey on  _ NHL 17 _ . Crashing into people on ice sounded like a good time.

As the game stopped itself to mark the end of the second period, Carmilla was startled by the sound of hinges creaking. Someone had opened her office door. She turned around in her chair, practically getting on all fours.

And then, a familiar laugh. “You look silly in that chair,” Laura said. “It’s like it’s swallowing you.”

“It  _ is  _ a very big chair,” Carmilla said. “Care to join me?”

Laura approached her, her eyes on the screen. “Is that NHL?” she asked.

“It is.” Carmilla shifted her position so that she was again facing the screen. Seconds later, Laura perched on the edge of the seat… “Come on, cupcake. There’s room enough for the both of us.”

“Cupcake?” Laura was looking at her with a raised eyebrow. “Where’d that come from?”

“I don’t know, it just slipped out,” Carmilla said. “Are you gonna make yourself comfortable or what?”

Laura paused for a moment, before scooting backwards and adjusting herself so that her and Carmilla were essentially taking up a half each of the nest chair. She rested her head against the back of the chair. “You like hockey?” she asked Carmilla.

“I’m Canadian.”

“Not all Canadians like hockey,” Laura said.

“So I’m guessing you don’t,” Carmilla said.

“I like it well enough. I’ve never played the video game, though,” Laura said.

“I’ve got a second controller. Wanna try?” Carmilla offered.

Laura shook her head. “Nah, actually, I’d just rather watch you.” She nodded at the controller in Carmilla’s hands. “Come on.”

“All right.” Carmilla resumed the game and played the third period, keenly aware that Laura was sitting so close to her. She couldn’t remember a time when they had been this close before. They were always sitting on separate chairs, sometimes with a table in between them. But this time, Laura was only inches away, the now-familiar scent of her shampoo magnified because of the minuscule distance, and Carmilla needed to focus and make sure she looked like none of these factors were affecting her at all.

She ended up losing the game. She was two goals up when Laura arrived, but the opposing team managed to catch up and eventually surpass her. Admittedly, her defensive play got sloppy.

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Laura commented. “Was I being a bad cheerleader?”

“You’re like a bad luck charm,” Carmilla joked.

Laura pretended to be offended. “Oh please, your offence seems fine, but you were slacking in your zone, Karnstein,” she said.

Carmilla made a show of handing her the controller. “Why don’t you give it a try then?”

“Fine,” Laura said gamely. She took the controller from Carmilla. “You gotta show me how to work this thing, though. Don’t worry, I’m a fast learner.”

Carmilla was glad to discover that Laura wasn’t lying about that.

* * *

“Are you sure you haven’t played this before?” Carmilla asked, as Laura scored a goal that put her team up by two, with only seconds to go in the third period. “Because that was cold.”

“Honest, I haven’t played this before,” Laura said. They didn’t have much money for video games growing up, and all Laura had was a Nintendo DS that managed to last her from junior high to her third year of university. “I’m just a natural, I guess.” The game finished and Laura placed the controller in the space next to them. She looked at Carmilla. “You’re not much of a party person.”

Carmilla smirked. “Oh, what gave that away?”

“Lucky guess,” Laura joked. With her focus no longer on the game, she remembered that she was alone in a room with Carmilla, the two of them practically laying next to each other on the ridiculously large nest chair in Carmilla’s office. The room was dark, illuminated solely by the glow of the TV. And  _ god _ , the light it cast on Carmilla’s gorgeous face was romcom-worthy.

“What are you thinking about?” Carmilla asked.

That life wasn’t a romcom. “Uh, I was just wondering, what did the CEO think of the teaser?” Laura asked. “She left right away.”

“Well, she was never one to spend time with the commoners. Or game developers in general.” There was an unusually deep frown on Carmilla’s face. “Sometimes I do wonder why she insisted on taking Silas this far. She used to be in property, you know. And then one of her old friends founded Silas in the late eighties, and asked her to invest a couple of years later, and then by the time I started Grade Eight, she bought the whole company.”

“Wait.” Grade Eight? That was an oddly specific way to remember an event. “Why does it matter if you were in Grade Eight?” Laura asked.

Carmilla’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh, right, you don’t know,” she said. “Lilita Morgan, the CEO of Silas Entertainment, is my mother.”

Laura nearly sat up in shock, but if this was something Carmilla was keeping a secret, people’s reactions to it probably factored into that decision. “So, you’re like, her heir apparent or something?” she asked.

“She wishes. It was pretty obvious that I was her favourite growing up, but I didn’t want to be anything like her.” Carmilla’s jaw tightened. “Silas is a whole family affair. Mother is the CEO, Mattie does operations, I’m in charge of the development side of things, and Will does the PR. We’re siblings,” she offered by way of explanation. “Mattie’s adopted, and Will and I have different dads. They’re not part of this family affair, in case you were wondering.”

“Do many people know?” Laura asked.

Carmilla shook her head. “I think Perry does but she doesn’t say anything about it.” She picked up the controller. “Anyway, Mother seemed satisfied with the teaser. It’s usually always worse when she actually says something. So she’s happy enough.”

“That’s good. I’d hate to make a bad impression.” Laura had no idea what made her said that, but she had long accepted that her mouth had a long history of cooperating with her brain.

Whatever mental panic she was going through went seemingly unnoticed by Carmilla, who had started a new hockey game. She was flicking through the teams. “That’s the problem with Mother Dearest, though,” she was unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice, “she thinks her impressions matter, but they don’t.”

Talking about Carmilla’s mother was clearly a sore point. Laura got the hint; she understood what that felt like. “So… the Canadian Gaming Summit is soon, huh?”

Carmilla had selected her teams and started playing a game. “Yup,” she said. “The work’s mostly done by Mattie and Will. I’ve already done my bit for it. Now all I have to do is turn up on the day and say the pre-prepared statements Will’s people have written for me.”

“Are you going to be around at the summit at all or are you going just going to be at the Silas showcase?” Laura asked.

“I’m not sure yet. It depends how I’m feeling, I guess.” Carmilla glanced at her for a second, then returned her attention to the TV screen. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, I got a hold of a pass,” Laura began.

Carmilla jabbed the Start button on her controller so she could turn to look at Laura. She wore a vaguely displeased expression. “Did Big Red give you her extra one?” she asked.

“Big Red?”

“Danny Lawrence.”

“Well, yes. She didn’t say I had to come with her, though.” Laura watched Carmilla’s face for any sign of softening. “Apparently it’s going to be full of developers, and you guys are an intriguing sort. I was thinking that I’d go check it out by myself. Unless you wanted to show me around.”

Carmilla’s scowl deepened. “Laura, if someone gives you one of their passes, that’s usually because they expect you to keep them company,” she said. “And I think Danny wants you to keep her company.”

Laura sat up, surprised at the irritation in Carmilla’s voice. She knew what she wanted to happen by bringing Danny and the pass into the conversation, but she didn’t expect Carmilla to be so… upset. It turned out that it wasn’t just her who had problems with subtlety. “Why do you sound like you have a problem with that?” she asked.

Carmilla didn’t respond. Instead, she turned off the Xbox using the controller, and sat up, too. The TV, however, was left on, and the faint haze of the now-black screen placed both of them in silhouette. “Laura,” Carmilla’s voice was low, equal parts earnest and frustrated, “you know why.”

And Laura thought she couldn’t be any more surprised, but suddenly Carmilla’s lips were on hers, Carmilla’s hand gently cupping her cheek. She froze for a moment, figuring out if this was the right thing to do, but  _ god _ , if neither of them were going to say anything, then they might as well  _ do  _ something, right? So she kissed Carmilla back, slowly, deliberately, moving forward so she was leaning into Carmilla’s hand. 

Seconds later, Carmilla pulled away. Laura’s eyes had adjusted to the dark and she could make out Carmilla’s eyes. She looked freaked, trying to figure out Laura’s reaction.

Laura decided to help her. “Wow,” she breathed.

Carmilla’s office door opened with a telltale creak. “Carmilla?” Perry’s high-pitched voice pierced through the sexual tension in the room. “You in here?”

“Y-yes,” Carmilla stammered. She cleared her throat to compose herself. “Yeah, Perry, sorry. What is it?”

“Phone call from Montreal. I know we’re having a party, but apparently it’s urgent,” Perry said, sounding apologetic.

“Oh, okay. Which line is it on?”

“Line two,” Perry answered.

“Yeah, I’ll talk to them,” Carmilla said. “Thanks, Perry.”

“Do you need me to turn your lights on?” Perry asked.

“No, I can manage. Go back to the party,” Carmilla said. She thanked Perry again and got up from the nest chair, watching as Perry closed the door and walked back out into the bullpen. 

Laura listened to Carmilla’s footsteps as she crossed the room and flicked on the lights. 

Carmilla was standing behind her desk, staring at her office landline as if it was radioactive. Her clothes had ridden up in places, and her hair was bunched up at the back from slouching on upholstery.

“I should go,” Laura told her.

“Laura,” Carmilla began.

Laura shook her head. “Carm, I’ll text you later, okay?” she said, in the most reassuring tone she could muster. “I just, I gotta go.” She knew that they needed to talk about what happened, but Laura was not the best talker. She needed to process everything first. Otherwise she would just risk making a fool of herself.

Carmilla looked at her, her shoulders hunched, her eyes brooding. “Okay,” was all she said.

Laura didn’t want to press any further. She straightened her clothes, ran a hand through her hair, and then walked out of the office. Once she found her backpack, she headed straight to the elevators, without so much as a goodbye.

* * *

Carmilla kissed Laura and Laura kissed her back. And Carmilla couldn’t stop thinking about it. From an ethical standpoint, she no longer had anything to worry about. Laura’s contract with Silas Entertainment was over. Technically, she could kiss Laura whenever she wanted.

Except it wasn’t just about  _ kissing _ .

Carmilla had a way with women; she didn’t feel the need to be modest about it. Back when she was a little bit younger, with much less responsibilities—when she wasn’t Chief Product Director—she made a sport out of chasing women. Why not? She was young, she was attractive, and she was an exceptional flirt. And she was even more exceptional at  _ other things _ . But she was no Lothario. Carmilla actually liked the whole display of romance—the elaborate dates and the nuanced conversations that built up to fun in the dark. What she didn’t like was what came after.

Intimacy. Comfort. The security and enjoyment of caring about someone the way they cared about you. And of course, the thing she wouldn’t dare think about: love.

Another thing she wouldn’t think about: Laura was not the kind of person Carmilla only wanted to romance. No, she was the kind of person who deserved everything else that came after that.

Carmilla didn’t want to dwell on that because she knew that it was true. But she wasn’t sure if she was ready.

“Girl the hell up,” Carmilla muttered to herself, echoing one of Laura’s favourite catchphrases.

They hadn’t seen each other since the kiss, but they were still texting and emailing each other at about the same frequency, like nothing had happened. Laura was back working for her boss, doing post-production on an American TV show, and she was working for ten hours nearly every day. She hadn’t brought up the kiss, and Carmilla just chalked it up to her being busy, but she guessed that Laura wanted to delay the conversation as much as she did.

Carmilla distracted herself by paying more attention to work than she usually did. And when that wasn’t sufficient, she pulled up the schedule for the Canadian Gaming Summit and looked at the speakers and networking events that she could attend.

The week of the summit finally arrived. The Silas showcase wasn’t till the evening of the second day, so Carmilla turned up on the first day, went to see a couple of speakers, and even stayed for a wine and cheese event early in the evening. No Laura to be seen anywhere. She did text that morning mentioning that her boss needed her at the studio.

On the evening of the showcase, Carmilla allowed Mattie and Will drag her around to various places around the venue, shaking hands with representatives from bigger developers, potential investors, and members of the press. Will had a team of people responsible for the setup at the venue’s main auditorium, so Carmilla found comfort in the knowledge that everything will be prepared once she got on stage.

Laura still hadn’t made an appearance. Her last text to Carmilla was around midday:  _ Nellie’s not satisfied with the sound quality on a lot of the footage. She’s telling me she can’t believe she’s expecting us to work with this. I think she might demand a reshoot. _ Carmilla just took that to mean that Laura wasn’t going to be able to make it.

She was on stage for about fifteen minutes, talking the audience through Silas Entertainment’s achievements since the last summit, accompanied by a visual presentation with occasional breaks in her speech for short video clips. The final section of her presentation was the introduction to the  _ Adonis Hunt  _ teaser trailer. She talked about it with ease, conveying the appropriate pride for such a project. And with that, she received the applause as she made her way down the stage.

The stage lights were switched off as the projector came to life once again, flashing the first frame of the teaser.

Carmilla looked out into the audience, hoping to observe their reaction. But out in the front row, a familiar black backpack was resting on the floor. The glow of the sunlight from the video glinted on the bag’s keychain, which was attached to a Hufflepuff crest. Carmilla’s heart skipped a beat. She focused on the person sitting on the chair by the backpack.

Sure enough, it was Laura, whose attention was solely on her work. She was chewing the inside of her cheek, and the fingers of her left hand were drumming absently on her thigh, as her gaze just about bore holes into the wall.

Carmilla thought that she looked beautiful like that.

If she was being honest, there was not a time when she didn’t think that Laura looked beautiful.

* * *

Sure, Laura had been attracted to Carmilla from the moment she saw her, but during the night of the party at Silas HQ, when Laura sat on that nest chair, hyperaware of Carmilla’s presence, she knew what the pounding in her chest meant. This was more than attraction.

The thing was that Laura had no idea how to talk to girls she liked.

Especially after kissing them.

Kissing was the part that came after the talking, right? Laura only ever occasionally got to that part with other girls. How was she supposed to handle talking  _ after  _ kissing?

She had been coping with the situation the best way she knew how: by pretending that it didn’t exist. To Carmilla’s credit, she seemed to agree with the approach.

Laura nearly didn’t go to the Silas showcase at the Canadian Gaming Summit. The morning after the kiss, Laura texted Nellie asking if she needed an assistant anytime soon. And the day after that, she was back in Nellie’s studio, sorting footage for a new series that was to air on the CW. It was a more demanding project than both her and Nellie initially thought, but Laura was glad that she had an excuse to not see Carmilla for a while.

Betty would have told her that she was just doing the same old Laura Hollis thing, by delaying the inevitable. It was a good thing then that she finally landed a 1st AD job on a network TV series. She was too busy to cast judgement on Laura’s life choices.

But CW series or not, Nellie refused to relinquish her principles of work-life balance. She insisted that they were going to stick to a six-hour schedule for a couple of days, so that they had the time to take care of themselves and catch up with their friends and families. Laura didn’t even bother arguing with her. She got home later that day and saw the summit pass, nearly forgotten, on top of her bedside table. The Silas showcase was the evening after that, and Laura decided that she was going to head there straight from work.

She couldn’t help but smile proudly as Carmilla took the stage, looking a bit more sophisticated than usual, but still like herself. She was sufficiently articulate, but held herself a bit awkwardly, like she was ready to bolt off the stage at any time. Unlike her siblings, Carmilla clearly didn’t feel comfortable holding the attention of hundreds of people. Laura found that endearing.

And then Carmilla left the stage as the  _ Adonis Hunt  _ teaser began to play. Laura was sick of  _ Adonis Hunt  _ at that point, but she watched the reactions of the people around her. There were gasps and murmurs of excitement. A minute and a half later, the teaser was over, and the room broke out in applause.

Someone had managed to drag Carmilla back on stage, where she said a few awkward words of thanks before leaving again.

The audience members were beginning to leave, so Laura took that as the chance to go after Carmilla. She slung her bag over one shoulder and scanned the crowd, wondering in which direction Carmilla could’ve gone.

But she didn’t even have to wonder very long, because Carmilla was standing directly in front of her, mere metres away. “Hey,” she probably said, though Laura could be wrong, because she was only reading her lips.

They met each other halfway.

“You were great,” Laura told her.

To her surprise, Carmilla reached out and pulled her into a hug. They had hugged before, many times, but this was different. This felt like Carmilla was trying to tell her something.

Carmilla inhaled against the hair covering Laura’s neck. And then she lifted her head a little bit, so that her mouth was in line with Laura’s ear. “Thank you for coming,” she said quietly. Her arms were still wrapped tight around Laura, showing no signs of letting go.

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Laura responded. “You were great,” she said again.

Carmilla loosened her hold around Laura, so that she could shift backward and look Laura in the eye. “So, I kinda hate it here,” she said. “Do you want to go somewhere else?” She bit her lip. “Maybe we could have our talk.”

“Are you trying to  _ seduce  _ me, Miss Karnstein?” Laura joked. Defence mechanism. There was a flash of hurt in Carmilla’s eyes, and she immediately felt guilty. “I’m sorry. I was just kidding,” she said.

“I think we should actually talk, you know.”

“Carm, I agree,” Laura said. Her hand moved up from Carmilla’s upper back to the nape of her neck, and she threaded her fingers in Carmilla’s hair there as she lightly traced her fingertips against Carmilla’s skin, to reassure her. “Where do you want to go?”

“I’m not fussed, so long as it’s anywhere where your dad won’t interrupt us,” Carmilla said.

This made Laura laugh. “I could go for a frappuccino.”

Carmilla glared at her, though a smile was tugging at the corners of her lips.

“What?” Laura asked. “The coffee places you like always close early. Starbucks is always open.”

“We’re not going to Starbucks, Laura,” Carmilla said. “I know a dessert place not far from here. How about we go there?”

“You know what, Carm? It doesn’t matter. I want to be where you are,” Laura said. Sincerity was not her strong suit, but she was hoping that she did well enough.

Carmilla let go of her, but took her hand, lacing their fingers together. Wordlessly, she led Laura out of the auditorium, and into the night.

They were nearly out of the summit venue when Carmilla suddenly stopped walking. “Shit!” she exclaimed.

“What is it?” Laura asked.

Carmilla looked almost sheepish. “I left my backpack in the green room.”

Laura laughed. “Of course you did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it. The final chapter. Thanks for going on this leisurely ride with me. My idea for this fic was simple. I wanted to dust off the cobwebs after a year of not writing anything, and so I wanted to do something low stakes, something that's closer to real life human relationships. Girl meets girl, they have confusing feelings, and then the lesson is that they need to learn how to communicate. Rest assured, this will probably not be the last time you'll hear from me. I've got a few things cooking...

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back! This Hollstein AU was conceived by my unhealthy obsession with backpacks and meet-cutes.
> 
> Title is from "Supercut" by Lorde.


End file.
